Anna had long dreamed of sharing her life with someone, but reality shattered her dreams to pieces.
Anna was always well-liked by those around her, yet life unfolded in such a way that she remained alone. In her younger years, she dedicated herself to books and knowledge, treasures carefully preserved by her parents, especially her mother. Growing up in a small town just outside Oxford, she surrounded herself with the quietude of old novels, far from the hustle and bustle of the world.
One day, a man swept into her life—handsome, well-off, with a charming smile. His courtship was fervent, and it seemed inevitable they would marry, like dawn following night. But fate struck a cruel blow: the unexpected death of her father and her mother’s serious illness derailed all her plans. Anna stayed to care for her mother, while her fiancé, unable to withstand the trials, vanished like a wisp of smoke, leaving behind only the bitter taste of betrayal.
Years later, after her mother’s passing, Anna suddenly felt a profound longing for companionship. She watched her friends spread their wings after divorces, cherishing their newfound freedom, yet she yearned for closeness—someone to share her solitude. It was then that chance brought her together with a widower named James. A kindred spirit, he shared her love for 19th-century literature, quoting Dickens and Austen. Their fireside conversations sparked a romance. Ignoring the warnings of friends—”Why do this at your age? Live for yourself!”—Anna and James chose to marry, believing love would conquer all.
Reality, however, proved cold and unyielding. Their life together was no idyll but a daily ordeal. James, with his tendency to leave things strewn about and live amidst chaos, turned Anna’s life into a nightmare. Her world—where everything had its place, where every book was precisely aligned on the shelf, and every cup had its designated spot—crumbled under the siege of his disorder. Each day became a battle for patience, a desperate search for harmony in the chaos.
She tried to talk to him, baring her soul, pleading for him to share responsibility for their home. But her words were swallowed by silence—James remained deaf to her pleas, her pain. After yet another incident of finding her cherished books carelessly piled in a corner and the kitchen buried under dirty dishes, Anna broke down. Tears filled her eyes as she said, “I want to leave. I want my peace back.” She longed for the quiet, solitary life where no one intruded upon her world, where she was the mistress of her own destiny.
Yet James, citing his own commitments, asked for time to “sort things out.” He stayed in her home, only adding to her suffering. Every footstep, every sound he made cut her heart like a knife. For nine months, the agony persisted—this marriage, turned prison. At last, the divorce was finalized, and Anna found her freedom again.
Embracing her solitude, she felt the air fill her lungs, her soul with newfound joy. The walls of her small flat once more became her sanctuary, her fortress. With a cup of tea in hand, watching the autumn rain through the window, she smiled genuinely for the first time in ages. The freedom she reclaimed was more precious than any illusions of happiness together. Anna realized that her life belonged solely to her, and she vowed never to let anyone disturb her fragile, yet precious, peace again.
